If there was one person I could murder
it would be the bully
that lives in your head.

I would carve out the mocking voice
that says you are fat or old
or stupid or broken
or clumsy or worthless

and I would slit it’s throat
with a knife from my kitchen.

(I have dreamed of this when
slicing beef, this murder.)

I would make this voice face me to know
the fear it puts you through.

For as cruel and hard
as that inner voice is
I am far crueler.

I would scoop out the eyes of that bully
with my thumbs.

I would slice off your abusers tongue.

The claws of your stalker
that have sunk into your head?
I would sever them with glee.

Chop, chop, at the bone.

I would burn the body
to dust and dissolve the bones.

But I cannot cut out the voice
you war with.

I cannot save you.

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